


Tell Me. Show Me.

by magpief7



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Disability, Disability Narrative, Eventual Smut, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Slow-ish burn, Survival, eventually, some good fluff too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpief7/pseuds/magpief7
Summary: After Culloden, Claire shows up on Lallybroch's front steps, bleeding and unconscious. Jenny nurses her back to health and the two help each other grieve and make do with their new lives as the aftermath of the revolution threatens to destroy the people and land around them.-----"When you left to find Jamie all those months ago when he was captured, I missed you. I’ve waited for Jamie before, but never you. Without you in the house, I… I became stiff, if you know what I mean. Getting out of bed became difficult to do – I was only able to move one limb at a time and my bones ached for something that I think you provided when you were here – whatever it was, when you left, it was taken away."
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser (mentioned), Claire Beauchamp/Jenny Fraser
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	1. Bed, Blue, Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken glasses, unanswered questions, and late night ponderings.

Open eyes. Wait. No. Close eyes again. One elbow per side. Push down. No movement. Try again. One elbow per side. Move together. Still nothing. Open eyes. No. Open eyes _slowly_. Light to the left. Fire ahead. Where is this. Blue walls. Blue design. This is familiar. Push up again. Or just try. Nope. Nothing. Try again. Where is this. Blue walls. Lying on something. Stretch fingers. Back and forth. Feel something. One hand per side. One elbow per side. Feeling something. Feel something.

There’s something soft. Something warm. Stretch fingers again. Push up again. No, just lie down. Lie down. Stretch fingers. Something soft. Close eyes. Focus. Where is this. What is this. Fire is crackling. Light is soft. This is soft. Stretch fingers. Move hands. A blanket. A heavy blanket. This is a bed. Touch the bed with fingers and hands. One hand per side. Feel the blanket and the bed. Open eyes. Look down. White blur. Blue walls. This is a bed.

One hand per side. One elbow per side. One arm per side. Move an arm. Reach out. Feel something. Figure this out. Stretch fingers. Reach out. Touch something cold. It is solid. It is cold. It is out of reach. Turn head. Nope. Don’t turn head. Close eyes again. Just reach out. Stretch fingers. Reach out. It is solid. It moves. Can’t feel it anymore. Where did it go. There’s a crash.

Head rings. Too loud. Too loud. Too loud. Head rings. Drop arm. Move arm back. Close eyes. Turn pain away. Close eyes. Too much pain. Too loud. Can’t move. Close eyes. Where is this. Blue design. Bed. Too loud. Blanket. These are hands. These are arms. These are fingers. Too much pain. How did this happen. Too much pain. Too loud. Close eyes. Close eyes. Close eyes.

* * *

The darkness of the kitchen accompanies a comfortable silence as I help Mrs. Crook wash and prepare various berries. My head jerks to attention when I hear the crash coming from upstairs. Whatever caused it, I am the only one close enough by to deal with it that’s also not too terribly busy. Looking at my hands, I see a mess of juices staining them red and blue so I brush them off on my apron and head out, giving Mrs. Crook a reassuring smile that comes out as more of a half-grimace. She nods in understanding.

The stairs fly past me as I run towards the source of the crash. My arms tense in apprehension.

The door flies open and old memories come flying with it. Memories of Ian and me sleeping together here. Memories of my first birth right there in that bed. Memories of listening to father read by the hearth when I couldn’t sleep. The few crumbling memories that remain of mother with her long hair and blue eyes. Memories of moving out when Jamie returned after all of those years away with no word. Memories of things I no longer have. _I still have Jamie even though Jamie’s not here_ , I remind myself, _at least not yet. Have to keep hope. Have to keep working._

My eyes dart around and quickly to take stock of the situation before me. No intruders. No wild animals. Just the woman in the bed. Just some broken glass on the floor. Just a little blood staining the sheets. This I can handle. Nothing world-shaking this time. Turning around, I yell down to the kitchen, “Mrs. Crook! Bring up a basket will ye? Also some- some extra cloth if ye will. We need to replace some of her bandages.”

The woman in the bed moans, grimacing at the sound of my voice. I curse myself inwardly. I kneel next to the bed, taking care not to kneel on the broken glass itself. Softly, I croon, “Shhh… Claire… It’s ok. You’re safe. I’m here. …Sorry I yelled.” The blood on the sheets is coming from Claire’s hand. I pick it up to assess the damage. It looks like she reopened a few of her scabs by moving about too much. Nothing to worry about.

I chide her, “ _Claire_ … now what are ye doin’ moving about that much? Save yer strength. You need it to heal” My voice lowers, “You it need to live.”

Mrs. Crook enters behind me and sighs out of concern when she sees the scene before her. She has a basket on her arm.

“Thank you Mrs. Crook. Would ye mind wrapping up her hand?”

She nods and takes the clean bandages out of the basket as she hands it to me. Carefully I start picking glass up off of the floor and gathering the shards in the basket. When the two of us finish our tasks, I sit up on my knees.

“Could ye dispose of this? I’ll fetch a fresh glass and see if I can get her to drink a bit.”

“Aye Mistress.” Mrs. Crook ducks her head and leaves.

As I start to head out, I take one cursory glance over my shoulder at Claire. I stop in my tracks. Her eyes are slightly open; small creases of worry line her brow. My breathing quickens. She’s awake. I hurry to her side.

“ _Claire._ ”

She doesn’t respond. I brush some hair out of her face, gently grabbing her newly bandaged hand.

“Claire, can ye hear me?”

Her eyes are barely open but as they focus on mine, Claire’s face and chest begin to slowly writhe beneath the blankets.

“Claire, is something wrong? Are- Are you in more pain than we thought?”

I see her head make a small dismissive gesture. She can barely move at all in her current state. Her hand weakly squeezes mine. I see tears well up in her eyes as she breaks eye contact and, after a second more, loses consciousness again. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

_What happened to you, Claire?_

I take my hand out of her grip and command any feelings of worry away from my throat as I leave the room.

Mrs. Crook is waiting at the bottom of the stairs expectantly. She is holding a glass of water.

“I think she was awake for a bit but… she’s out again.”

“Suppose it’s a small mercy.”

“Mmm… Maybe I should stay with her tonight. She clearly isn’t fully ready to be out and about. Can’t have her breaking another glass and cutting herself up more.” I laugh at something. Myself, maybe, or perhaps just these stressful past few months.

“Will ye need blankets?”

“Aye, and- and extra wood for- for the fire.”

_Need to make preparations. Claire needs me. This is going to take a while and she is hurting. Jamie is out here and he might be in danger. We are going to need Claire to tell us something. She wouldn’t have left him. Not without a good reason._

Suddenly my head starts to spin. Old, work-worn hands find my elbows and guide me down to a step. _This is too much. Why did Ian have to go?_

“Lizzie what- what could have happened? Why isn’t Jamie with her? Why is she all cut up and… and _dying_? What- What if- I just- What-”

“Mis- _Jenny_. It’ll be ok. We’ve weathered a lot. _You’ve_ weathered a lot. Whatever happened to bring her here, like this, we will make sure she lives and she will tell us. Then we can decide what to do next. It’ll be ok.” I shut my eyes tightly and nod.

Mrs. Crook continues, “Let me go see if I can get her to drink.”

“Thank you. I’m… I’m going to go lie down. Let me know if Ian gets back.”

“I’ll wait up for him, Mistress. He’ll come back.”

Just not today it seems.

Later that night, I wrap myself tighter in some of my blankets as I watch Claire sleep from a nearby chair. She hasn’t moved since I left her. One of her hands lightly hangs off the side of the bed. The sheen of moonlight across her face paints a picture of peace and resilience. It is difficult to discern where her wounds are in this light; her face is just as fair as I remember it from her visits before. But it _is_ different now. The world outside my walls is violent and changing rapidly thanks to the new rebellion. Everything’s different. I blink, and, now you’re here. Again.

_Claire, what happened? Where is Jamie?_

_I’ve always marveled at how you were able to handle intense situations like this. Always ready to mend a wound or go to war. How were you able to go to war like it’s nothing? I know it takes its toll on you. I saw it a few times when I first met you all those months ago. I saw it when someone came in with a particularly bad wound or when you couldn’t help somebody, no matter hard much you wanted to. You’ve always known when to let go; when you can’t do anything more to help a patient. Your face would always tense up but then relax shortly afterwards; it was as if whatever horrors you were dealing with in the moment, you had always seen worse._

_It’s hard to see you like this. All… beaten up and- and on the brink of death. You are so beautiful. Mother would’ve said so. I say so. Cuts and bruises do not suit you, or anyone, for that matter. You bring light to Lallybroch, even if I didn’t think so at first. When you left to find Jamie all those months ago when he was captured, I missed you. I’ve waited for Jamie before, but never you. Without you in the house, I… I became stiff, if you know what I mean. Getting out of bed became difficult to do – I was only able to move one limb at a time and my bones ached for something that I think you provided when you were here – whatever it was, when you left, it was taken away._

_I am used to waiting, but what I’m not used to is the silence. When you and Jamie left – both times – my life was filled with silence. We had been given the smallest of glances at what it felt like to see our family completed for the first time in ages. I knew it, Ian knew it, and all of our tenants knew it too. It felt good to laugh with you and Jamie. To make eye contact with you across the dinner table when our husbands got a little too drunk. How many nights did we retire elsewhere to sit by the fire and talk? You, breathing in the fresh night air, me, knitting something or other for one of the bairns. It couldn’t have been all that many times, but…_

_I wish I could talk to you and see your face glowing under the firelight instead again of seeing it hidden by moonlight._

I am startled out of my reverie when Mrs. Crook opens the door. I breathe out sharply.

“Ye scared me.”

“Sorry mistress, I- Roddie is here. Says he came with important news that ye _need_ to hear.”

“Lizzie, is it really that important? I want to be here for Claire. Just in case she wakes up.”

“If she hasn’t moved all night, I’m sure she’ll will be fine for a while more. You can come back after you hear the news. Roddie said it _really_ couldn’t wait.”

I sigh and get up, following Mrs. Crook out of the room.

Downstairs, the two of us sit in the living room by the fire, hands clasped together on the table, waiting to hear whatever news the young man has brought to us. I don’t know Roddie super well. The lad sometimes comes up to the estate to help with harvest or storing grains for the winter. He is quiet. Only ever opened up to Ian and a little to Jamie when he was here. The lad had decided to leave with Jamie and the rest of the Jacobite army a few months ago. Roddie has short brown hair that I’ve never seen in a tidy state. He constantly has to brush it out of his eyes, which he is doing now as he paces back in forth in front of the table, hands tightly clasped behind his back. He hasn’t said anything since Mrs. Crook and I came down. I am too impatient for this. I have work to do.

“Roddie. What is it? We don’t have all night.”

The boy stops in his tracks, face paling to a deathly white.

“I’m no’ sure how to say it. I-”

“Whatever it is, _out with it_. We can handle a bit of bad news, Roddie.”

“Aye, but-”

“ _Roddie_.”

He swallows. “There was a… a battle. On Culloden Moor.”

“There’s a war going on, Roddie, that’s not-”

“We lost. The Jacobite army we- we lost. Badly. M- Most of the men died. Nobody knows what happened to the Prince. Jamie told me to get out right before it happened, so- so I came right back here as fast as I could. The redcoats are executing anybody suspected of being involved. They are sweeping the countryside looking for those that survived, even though… Even though there aren’t much of us left.”

I freeze.

“And my- my brother?”

Roddie’s voice begins to crack, emotion showing clearly now, “I don- I don’t know! I’m sorry, I-”

His small frame starts to shake. Mrs Crook stands up and caresses his shoulder, “It’s ok, lad. You did good by telling us. Go on home to yer family. It’s ok.”

There is a fog in front of my eyes that stings. It hangs as I sit motionless.

_He can’t be dead. It can’t have all been for naught. He’s already been to war and come back to me. This is no different. I just want my family. I just want silence, but not this silence. I want a comfortable, wanted silence of sitting by this fire with Claire or fishing with my brother or waking up in bed by my husband’s side. He can’t be dead. Wouldn’t do this. Can’t be dead. Hang on to the fire. Hang on to the moonlight. Just hang on, Jenny._

“ _Janet_. Listen to me.”

I blink and see Lizzie’s head level with mine. Her hands are resting on my lap. I realize that I am breathing heavily, brow furrowed.

“We don’t know anything yet. Master Jamie could still be alive for all we know. I mean, Claire made it out alive. If she made it, someone as hardy and as capable as Jamie might've too. We just have to wait.”

“Yer right. Yer right. I- Thank you, Lizzie. I’ll… I’ll go back upstairs. I want- _need_ to make sure Claire is ok.”

“Make sure to get some sleep yerself, ok? We- we need you. Now more than ever.”

I nod, unsure of what value a frozen, birth-worn mother like myself has to offer at a time like this.

* * *

Claire hasn’t moved an inch. Moonlight from the open window still conceals her wounds and bruises. The remnants of the firelight dance on the blue designs of the bedroom and on the white sheets of the bed.

_Wake up Claire. I need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this! Much of this fic's premise is revealed in the next chapter, so don't worry if you are confused. This chapter is just here to set the tone and form for the story I want to tell.
> 
> I believe this will be close to 10-12 chapters when I'm done. I'm hoping to update this at least every two weeks.


	2. Something with a "J"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgotten names, waking up, and truths brought to light.

Moonlight. Moon light. Light burns eyes. Close eyes. Wait it out. It’s just moonlight. Easily handled. No big deal. Seen it before. Breathe in. Breathe out. At least that’s possible. Breathing is always possible. Focus on that. There is pain, but there is always air. Cool night air. It’s quiet. That’s good. So relax. Relax. Whatever’s going on, just breathe and relax.

Open eyes. Moonlight doesn’t burn this time. Still quiet. Breathe in. Breathe out. Wait to see if pain goes away. It doesn’t. That’s fine. It’s not too bad. Moonlight is so beautiful. Hold on to that. Beautiful. Could go away soon. Hard to tell. Can’t see it. Moonlight means it’s nighttime. Time for sleep or rest. Probably. Pain does not like rest, though. Too fiery for that. Not like moonlight. Silver moonlight. Close eyes. There’s time to relax right now. That’s fine. That’s fine.

There’s sound this time. Turn head. Listen. Figure this out. It’s a quiet sound. Quite nice, actually. Something with soft materials. A gentle brushing. The occasional click of wood. It is nice. Very gentle. There is pain, but this is ok. Hopefully. But enough time in bed. Open eyes.

Too bright. Wince instead. Not nighttime anymore. That was a long time to be sleeping. Or not sleeping. Hard to say. Breathe in. Pain is manageable. Light is not. At least not that much. Don’t need to open eyes all the way, though. In fact, _don’t_ open eyes all the way. That soft sound helps. Fills ears with comfort. Makes movement a bit easier. Softens out the pain.

There’s a shape by the fireplace. Look at it. What is that? It’s not moving. Probably not a threat. The light is too bright to see. Not like there’s much to do if it is. Focus a bit more. It rocks back and forth, just as gentle as the sound. This should be familiar. It’s not just a shape. It’s… something. Hard to say.

Light is becoming too much. Close eyes. Think about it later.

It was a person. In that time of sunlight. Crease brow. That was too bright. Even now, when… Open eyes. Yes, even now when it’s night again. There was a person. Probably in a chair. The person should be familiar. Why else would they be sitting there. Who are they. Who are they. What’s their name. Pain is a bit too much to remember. They _are_ familiar, though. Something with a J. Their name starts with a J. There are many people with J names. Jenny. Jamie. Janet. James. John. Jordan. Jan. Could be any one of those, or maybe something else entirely.

There’s food somewhere nearby. The smells of cooked meats and pastries fill the air. Hushed whispers join them. Stomach rumbles at the thought of food. It wants, but it also warns against. Too preoccupied with churning to eat. Too set on wilting not to take anything in either. The whispers are too hard to make out. The J person has been joined by another. I do not have a letter for the second person. Just the J.

One of the whispers says something like how are you. One of the whispers says something like same as yesterday. What the whispers actually mean is that something is wrong. The presence of whispers alone means there’s something that needs hidden. Something in a bed perhaps. Something that tires too quickly to think of it more.

Pressure on bed. Close to arm.

Oh god. Arm hurts. Chest hurts. Throat burns. More than before. Way more. Oh god.

Please. Jenny. Jamie. Janet. John. Jordan. Just… Please. Please help. This is too much. Too much light. Too much burning. Oh god. Move towards. Groan. Moan. Writhe. Please. Reach for them. Implore. Beg. Can’t do this. Can’t hold on. Please. Please help. Have to. Don’t know your name. Not yet. But have to. Help. Please.

Oh, it burns.

There’s a hand on cheek. Soft, cool. Lean into that. Head burns, but the hand is cool. Hand caresses cheek. There’s a voice too. Open up, it says. Easy does it, it says. I’m here, it says. Of course. Of course. Lips feel something. Cool but hard. A glass. Of course. Open mouth. The movement is shaky. Help please. Water pours slowly. It helps. The throat-fire dies down a bit. Swallow. Breathe out. Writhe. Help. Again. Please. More water. Replenish. Hydrate. Feel. Sleep.

Not John. Not Jordan. That’s certain. All that leaves is… Jenny, Janet, Jamie.

Jamie. Hands twinge in memory. Painful to remember.

There had been a process of falling back onto the forest floor. Shocked. Abhorred. Wailed. Fell onto rock. Scraped back pretty badly. Cried out in pain. In grief. Jamie. No. Can’t. No. Back hurt. Bled. Scrambled forward. Clenched fists. Nails dug into skin. Saw blood on hands. Sunlight burned eyes, stung with tears. Sunlight lit up red hair. Red blood. Scream. Scream. Scream.

Stop remembering. It’s too much. Just sleep. Sleep until birds sing. A blue jay or a heron. A lark would be nice. Never was too good with birds. They are beautiful, though. Never thought otherwise. They were there in both times. Colorful and cheery. Not painful, though. Even though there are some memories that became painful.

Birds sing, so eyes open. Breathe out. Everything’s clearer now. Huh.

One elbow per side. Push up. Body is still in bed. Blue designs on these familiar walls. Turning head still hurts a bit. That’s fine. Take a hand and massage neck. It’s very stiff.

There’s a figure by the fire, but she’s still asleep. Still there, watching. Caring. Her name. What’s her name.

Janet. The painting with the birds. Caring hands that knit and sew. Family, after all this time. A formal name. A wedding vow. A home. But no, it’s not just Janet.

It’s Jenny.

* * *

_I have to mend a tear in young Jamie’s blanket. I have to cut some roots up for a stew tonight. I have to brush snow away from the front gates just in case Ian comes home. I have to make our own bed just in case Ian comes home. Maybe I’ll pray for something. Can’t just sit here all morning, even if I want to. Whole lot of good that did Claire these past few weeks._

Odd tasks are the only thing keeping me from both despair about Claire’s state as well as the treacherous cliff of wondering where my brother is. He is yet to be found, and we are deep in the throes of winter at this point. News had already come back that the rebellion was running dangerously low on supplies. This raised the question of how much supplies Jamie could’ve had on his own. _Stop that Jenny. Your son needs his blanket fixed._

I shift in my chair, letting myself melt in the sound of the rustle of blankets. I’ve always enjoyed winter mornings like this. Snuggling deeper under your blanket to keep your whole body warm. It’s a sparkly feeling. Almost as sparkly as the snow outside that makes your toes curl with how cold it is. It makes me want to stay in bed and never open my eyes.

My fingers search for the scruff of the wool blanket that Mrs. Crook gave to me to use all those weeks ago. They don’t find it. I groan and open my eyes. No sparkly-warm-tingly feelings for me this morning. My blanket is on my floor. Wait. Who is making that sound then?

_Claire_.

Jumping out of my chair, I rush over to her side, brushing my hair away from my shoulder and internally revising my list of today’s tasks. Claire’s eyes slowly come open as if she were just waking up from a long nap. One of my hands finds its way to her hair. She rolls her neck and shifts under the blankets.

“Claire, are ye… Are ye finally awake? Can ye hear me?”

She gives me a tired, world-weary glance. She smiles. _Oh, thank Christ._

“Ye have no idea how happy it makes me to ye see awake, I-” My hand shakes and my gaze lowers. “I watched you for weeks.”

Tears I had held back this whole time start to sting my eyes. Claire’s arm rises up, shaking a little, and finds my face. Sighing is not enough to express my relief, but I sigh anyways. I steel myself a bit and use my fingers to caress that hand. But then lines around her eyes crease in confusion, looking at her surroundings.

“Ye’re in yer room. At Lallybroch. Ye’re safe.” _Time for answers. Keep up hope, Janet._ “You’ve been here for a few weeks. We weren’t expecting you, of course, we just… found ye outside. Or, specifically, Mrs. Crook found ye. You were out front. Nobody saw ye come in – we didn’t know how long ye were there. Face down in the mud. There was a light layer of snow on yer back and ye had nothing with you.

“We brought ye up here because we figured it’d be nice to be in a familiar room again. Plus we needed to tend to you. Ye had a lot of cuts and bruises that looked pretty bad. It’s been a few weeks and ye haven’t been fully here for much of them either if ye know what I mean. But ye’re here now. And awake, which is good.”

Claire’s hand drops and she looks away, a bit of relief relaxing her features.

But now it’s my turn to be worried. I try to keep the urgency out of my voice, “Claire, soon after you showed up, we… we heard news of the rebellion and… and a battle on Culloden Moor, what hap-”

But I don’t get to finish my question. The atmosphere in the room changes immediately. Claire becomes a weak frenzy of arms and sheets and fear as she attempts to scramble up from her position.

“Claire, I know you’re probably not doing great right now, but I need to know. Do you know where Jamie is? We haven’t heard from him in weeks and-”

She freezes. Her chest rises and fall as if trying to put out a great wildfire.

_No._

“Claire, _what happened to Jamie_?”

I don’t know what gets me more, the way she shakes her head over and over again or the fact that she does not shed any tears.

“Claire, what happened? Is he-”

Her eyes squeeze shut. Her lips tremble. She attempts to make a few gestures with her hands, but gives up. She looks me in the eye and I swear she might crumple under the weight of whatever happened to her. She opens her mouth, trying to decide on the proper words.

But no words come. She repeats the series of gestures a few times, fatigue slowly fading into alarm in her eyes.

“Claire, what- what’s wrong, do ye need something?”

Frantically, a hand clasps at her throat, gesturing in exasperation and fear.

“Wh- Ye can’t speak? You have no voice?”

Scream. Scream. Scream.

“Oh, Claire… You have no voice.”

_And I have no siblings._


End file.
